


My Mentor's Protégé

by orphan_account



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom!Thorin, M/M, Top!Bilbo, but only vaguely!, maid outfit, ok not so much, ricest, the only references to modern will be technology and clothes, the rest is quite..., well let's let you make up your own mind?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:52:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ladynorthstar posted a picture of Thorin in a maid's outfit on tumblr. the pose was vulnerable. it spoke to me.<br/>summary:<br/>Thorin is in real trouble, and he doesn't know how to get out of it. So he turns to his oldest friend and father-figure, Bilbo, for help.<br/>(this is turning out to be quite dark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Mentor's Protégé

**Author's Note:**

> from: http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/44384552515/fili-had-the-unfortunate-idea-to-inform-bilbo-that  
> archive? yes, please, if you want to. just give me a heads up, yeah? ;)

on [tumblr ](http://pandeimos.tumblr.com/post/44400653046/my-mentors-protege-thorin-in-a-maids-outfit-some)from [ladynorthstar](http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/44384552515/fili-had-the-unfortunate-idea-to-inform-bilbo-that)

 

It was a testament to how far the Durinson name had fallen, the sight of the young man on all fours scrubbing the floor in front of him, Bilbo thought.

Bilbo Baggins, a gentleman of the Shire, born and bred Hobbitonite, was a wealthy man with generous connections. Quiet and humble, he mixed well in polite circles, and had a smile that pardoned any indiscretion and neutralities concerning old family feuds.

Bilbo Baggins, the man to go to when one had money troubles and wanted to keep it out of polite conversation.

Bilbo Baggins, the man with desires not spoken of in polite conversation. And right now, as he poured himself a generous tumbler of scotch, Bilbo Baggins was enjoying the view of his former protégé scrubbing floor on all fours.

He tied his robe tighter around his waist and stalked towards the younger man. Thorin burned red, focusing on the floor and scrub beneath his hands. He _burned_ with shame. Shame at his father’s and grandfather’s misguided attempts of enriching themselves. Shame at having to beg an old and respected friend for help. For an alibi. For money. For protection.

Shame at having found himself doing _housework_ in a custom made number that would be puritan, buttoned up and tight up to his neck and tight long sleeves with the whitest fucking apron bleach could deface, if it weren’t for the veritably obscene length of the skirt.

Thorin tried to ignore how the hem brushed and bumped against the upper end of his thigh, right under his cheek. It was much easier to ignore than the immobile presence of his friend behind him, than the wandering eyes and the cane brushing between his legs.

Bilbo smiled behind his drink at Thorin’s badly concealed twitching. He tilted his head, trying to catch a better view without bending down to the floor. There was a small expanse of leg skin framed with lace between the hem of the barely-skirt and the tights, Bilbo pursed his lips, and it was rather unfair that it was all the skin in his reach.

Bilbo reached out with his cane, dipping it deep between Thorin’s legs and dragging up along his penis, then balls, to push back the thick layers of cloth over the apron’s bow. Thorin’s legs tensed, his hand faltered and slipped on the floor, and bilbo inquisitively dragged the business end of his decorative cane across one cheek and down one thigh, catching the lace of the stocking and pulling the stubborn thing all the way down to the black boot.

Ah, the boots. Bilbo mused, digging into the skin and scratching Thorin’s crack, about just how well Thorin walked in six inch heels. And how well he looked with the cane in his arse.

Thorin had stopped trying to do anything but hold himself upright; it was bad enough, Bilbo lifting his skirts with a wooden stick he didn’t even need. But keep a sound mind while his testicles were rolled at the point of said stick, back and forth and back and forth until they were heavier with impatience, while Bilbo decided his new place of interest was his desperate and needy hole?!

Impossible.

And so it was that Thorin was reduced to a mess, knees too weak to hold him upright, forehead and forearms soaked in soapy water while his spine was reduced to fluids, jerking back and completely at the mercy of Bilbo and his cane, sometimes shoving in teasingly, sometimes laying welts of red and blue across his backside and thighs.

With a heavy grunt, Thorin splattered his release on the wooden floor. Bilbo threw aside his can and straddled his thighs, spreading his cheeks with eager hands and poking in with starving fingers. Overstimulated and vulnerable, Thorin tried to crawl away, but it was in vain. The shorter man simply removed one hand from his crowded backside and grabbed his neck, forcing his face onto the damp floor.

“Naughty, naughty boy...” Bilbo tutted, voice relentlessly even, not betraying the brutal pace he set with his hips. “Such a mess... I’ll expect you to clean it up in the morning.”

Every shove inwards sent Thorin farther up the wooden floor, tights ripping at his knees. Every shove inwards, Bilbo dug his nails into his waist and pulled him back, the conflicting movements forced upon his body adding to the friction on his knees.

Every thrust, every stab at his prostate, every smack on his burning thighs, every pull of his hair, every bite on his skin reminded him of Bilbo’s gracious helping hand, when Thorin, alone and desperate, approached him for help.

_He was alone now. Father and Grandfather arrested and held for interrogation, sister shipped off to who knows which relatives, friends mute in his presence, himself old enough to take responsibility but too young to have any real experience with this level of fuckuppery._

_But also there was hope. He held tightly to the duvet around his shoulders and the tea in his hands, and looked up to where Bilbo was sat, opposite him and looking back at him. Kind Bilbo, who took in his youthful arrogance without agenda. Humble Bilbo, who half raised him when he had questions, about life and first loves and general adolescent fears. Generous Bilbo, who paid his bail and used his connections with the law to keep him out of jail._

_Cruel Bilbo, who bargained with Thorin’s freedom and soul like they were mere trivialities, who gave him a key to the house but not his own room, who gave him relative freedom from prison but none of his virtue, who clothed him but only so far as to grant wandering hands easy access, who fed him but only so he could eat out of his palm._

Thorin was an absolute mess on the floor. A second climax increased the sticky mess on the floor, and his mentor was already coaxing a third one out of his exhausted and protesting body. Bilbo released his neck and squeezed in two fingers next to his member, causing the younger man to buck back and away from the sensation at the same time.

Thorin jerked awake when he felt himself pulled by his hair. It wasn’t harsh; it was soothing, the way Bilbo held his head in his lap and braided it together. He snuggled into Bilbo’s stomach, enjoying the yielding flesh beneath his head. His hands were tied with Bilbo’s robe belt, the skirt of his maid costume still rucked up to expose his thighs and rear, and utterly ruined by unmentionable fluids and over-enthusiastic rearrangements.

He was quite fortunate that he had others, Thorin thought to himself. It would hardly do, walking around in tattered clothed, or in the nude.


	2. My Mentor's Protégé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still inspired by  
> http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/44384552515/fili-had-the-unfortunate-idea-to-inform-bilbo-that

inspired by [ladynorthstar](http://ladynorthstar.tumblr.com/post/44384552515/fili-had-the-unfortunate-idea-to-inform-bilbo-that)

 

Bilbo took a deep breath from his pipe, enjoying the sweet smell of the burning tobacco. A nice quiet drink with friends in his favourite club, the evening was perfect.

Bilbo lifted his empty tumblr, and Dwalin’s boys left his side to oblige. Fili and Kili were connected by one wrist and ankle, sharing one and all tasks. Fili held the tray while Kili bent down and poured, following the awaiting glassware while Bilbo tauntingly pulled it back. He was very tempted to goad some panic into the two brothers, testing the limits of their restraints and maybe getting them to spill the decanter.

The last time one of the boys misbehaved, Bilbo had the privilege of witnessing how Dwalin disciplined his boys. Thorin whimpered and cried when he saw tears running down their faces, and blood dripping down their thighs, begging for Bilbo to _help, please help!_ A generous gag and the handle of a mop up his arse later, his protests ceased and Bilbo could once again enjoy Dwalin chaining Fili’s and Kili’s genital piercings to each other.

Shaking with fear was all the two seemed to be able to do lately. Their backs faced their master, so they weren’t aware that his attentions were otherwise captured. They didn’t need to be; their entire existence was based on their behaviour, assuming that they were watched at all times.

Rather, Dwalin enjoyed the spectacle before him. Bilbo kindly let free his little pet, an old friend. Thorin was on all fours, in tight prim maid’s uniform, laced and virtuously buttoned and entirely too short to be anything but a dress to be fucked in, hiding half his bum standing and riding up to his tailbone kneeling. Panties crotchless and backside fiery red from abuse, the mogul’s son whined and wailed without restraint, uninhibited with the help of complete sensory deprivation. Eyes and ears covered, it was entirely possible that he was completely unaware of his audience.

“No.”

Dwalin looked up to the third of their company.

“You know the rules. Masters don’t touch other people’s pets.”

A vicious thrust pushed Thorin forward; his knees slipped, friction nulled by moisture, and he scrambled at the carpet for grip. Hands moved from his hips to his shoulders, keeping his face in close proximity to the cushioned surface firmly. Ori whined high in his voice, cockring vibrating but giving no relief whatsoever, and trying to escape the silicone rod lodged in his arse by a harness. His pace was as relentless as the pulsating machine, and the pace set by the remote in Nori’s hand.

“You let me touch him once.”

Thorin’s hips and thighs began to shiver uncontrollably, he was mentally unable to comprehend why his rectum was stimulated in ways that weren’t physically possible. And Dwalin was proud. He was the one to pierce that lovely cock; that lovely little boy’s cock, pierced with a ladder and decorated with old tribal symbols, giving little Ori a menacing air about him.

“Yes. I did. He was too loose and too raw for anything for two weeks. I ripped off half an ear, and I can bite off the rest. Hands off my little brother, Dwalin.”

A sharp whistle and Ori backed away from the welcoming relief that was Thorin’s backside. Fili crawled over his uncle’s back and rested, face occupied by an enticing loose hole. Ori occupied himself with an opening that was much ignored so far, and kissed Thorin with light affection, who grabbed his face and reciprocated.

They ignored the flashes coming from the sofa, lost in their own little world. In their tumble, Thorin’s eye and ear covers were nudged aside, and his ears burned red when he heard his nephew’s voiced emanating from his privates. Not that they were; when they realised that they had their uncle’s attention, they began to wrestle him onto his back. Thorin, breathless and still quite vulnerable, held onto Ori and dragged him with their movements.

Bilbo refilled and lit his pipe, eyebrow raised.

“Bofur’s away on business. He’s already gutted he couldn’t RSVP, so I promised him pictures and films.”

“With an iPhone?”

“He likes to be kept uptodate without delay.” Nori chuckled. His lover had the weirdest quirks. Thankfully, most of them involved his little brother, something they had in common.

A phone buzzed.

“Speaking of business... that tosser Thranduil’s still whinging.”

“What? Two out of three Thrain children aren’t enough for him?”

Bilbo snapped his fingers sharply, and Thorin untangled himself with great difficulty from the puppy pile, crawling towards him and rubbing his sweaty hair against his trousered leg. Fili and Kili reinvested their attentions to little Ori, Little Ori and His two Friends. Oh, how Dwalin missed them; if Nori hadn’t burst in while he had Ori on the table, he’d be sporting some nice little nubs on his balls...

“The tosspot’s completely OCD. Wants complete sets, and all that rubbish.”

Dwalin snorted derisively. The trouble Bilbo went through, keeping that moron in power... but business was business. He widened his legs to accommodate his boys, and set to review his schedule. Running fights all over the nation was hard work, but gratuitous. And if the money was right, and the audience pumped enough, and the coppers otherwise occupied, Dwalin might make an appearance himself as fighter.  
Kili set forth to comfort his brother the only way they were allowed to. Sucking and nibbling and lavishing devotion on a tattooed penis the size of an arm wasn’t very endearing, but it was the only time that their lips touched, around the monstrous appendage, without the pretense of swallowing the other’s tonsils, it was the only comfort they were allowed without needing to wait for permission.

Ori didn’t need to _wait for permission._ He learned to look and find it in his brother’s eyes a very long time ago. And right then, Nori didn’t want anything from him but immobility. And so he stayed still. Arms tied behind his back tightly, legs weak and eyes teary from tortuous denial, Ori stayed still while Nori pulled him close and rubbed his hands over his skin lovingly. Nori untied the harness, but didn’t pull it out. Ori held it in with sheer willpower, as the other bent his head and suckled on the gleaming glans. Foreskin pulled back and the base strangled by the ring, a new favourite instagram for their beloved Bofur. Nori focused his camera phone closer to Ori’s backside, trying to capture every detail.  
Ori was now almost bent over his back, Nori had his face pressed into the little one’s stomach, so that he could see the screen behind his back. Clear as the ebola virus under a microscope, Nori captured the fluttering of outer rings, the constant vibration of a thick, relentless silicone base, muscles clutching a violent perpetrator and holding it up with only their lubricated walls for friction. A losing battle. a new favourite home video.

Bilbo was working himself into a coronary, reading through Thranduil’s text. Worried, Thorin gently took the phone from his master’s shaking hands and placed it between his cheeks. Bilbo chuckled at his cheeky little maid, and wedged a leg between spread thighs. Thorin moaned, and grasped at the trouser leg. They then played a game, and old game, a favourite game. The ‘how long can Thorin hump the leg until he loses control of his buttocks and drops what he’s holding’ game.

**Author's Note:**

> just fyi: my first and last thilbo bagginshield. the goat has been milked, give her some air to relax and then come back in a few weeks when's she's recuperated.


End file.
